Of Men and Mice
by Narcotics
Summary: Ok, title makes no sense but for some reason I like it. These are Mojo's thoughts late at night (not supposed to be funny). Anyway, its my first fic here so please be nice.


Hello all! This is my first PPG fic here and I hope to do a much bigger one later. I wrote this a while ago after I read some Mojo fics and I couldn't help but do one of my own. I was going to make this something longer but Parasec did my idea before I got a chance. Oh well. I'm kind of glad that this is my debut. Comments are appreciated, flames are hurtful. Also I don't own Mojo or anyone else from Powerpuff Girls. They belong to Craig and Cartoon Network. Now for the fic:  
  
***************************************************  
  
It's not hard to do something your not proud of. It is hard to admit you're not proud of it. But the most important thing is to keep your pride.  
  
I must have lost a dozen of times. A joke. Pathetic. I tell myself again and again: "this time you will not lose". But I always do. As if an unbeatable aura surrounds them they are beyond my reach. A goal that literally soars through the clouds and I, as a grounded mortal, can in no way obtain them. I've come so close though. It raises my spirit to the height of my goals. When I hear the screams or see the blood or smell the scent of sweat as I give them all a real battle. A real fight. I'm not a joke then. I'm not a speck on the ground, not to be noticed while they soar on above to their next daily activity. I am very real and very dangerous. It's at that moment; the moment of fear, the moment of determination, the moment of absolution that I know what I'm doing is destiny.  
  
I'm not usually as foolish to speak of destiny in an open room. I even denounce its existence in the presence of others. But alone I often concur that I can't think of another explanation for what I do. What makes someone do this? What controls me so much that from one waking hour to the next I can do nothing other than plot, and scheme, and fail?  
  
I'm not known to be humble. It is far from an accurate description of myself. But then I wonder how one could not be humbled when constantly defeated and, more so, by children? Yet somehow I keep saying: "this time you will not lose. this time you will win and be triumphant and soar where they have fallen." And each time I am always wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. How often can someone fail before someone can succeed? Is my goal so far in the clouds that it is completely unobtainable? So unreachable that to hope for it would cause another to shake with great laughter? It couldn't possibly be. So many share my same goal. My same hopes. Yet I'm almost certain that they will never reach that goal. But if they do where does that leave me? And if they don't am I like them?  
  
So many questions for someone so late at night. Sleep should come effortlessly. A drifting of thoughts slowly seeping into unconsciousness. And yet here I am. Awake. In the middle of the night while I'm certain all the subjects of my thoughts are slumbering soundlessly in their beds. Dreaming of course not the same things I dream of. I dream dreams of slow carnage and totalitarianism. Tortured souls and an undying monarchy under which I alone would rule. And sometimes…rarely now…I dream of someone else.  
  
Its foolishness. I cast it from my rational thoughts when I awaken pleasantly from my unconscious adventures but there is no doubt that there is a desire. I sometimes wish I were not alone in this endeavor, that there was someone to join me. But anywhere I go I get hate, constant and irrefutable hate. And I welcome it with open arms. Because I don't care. Hate me now for you will all have to love me when I am your God! Who needs love when you have power…? No…no I've never relied on others or caring or love. I've needed only myself to survive. My house, my food, my everything, needed only me to make it happen.  
  
It's one twenty-three. Only seven hours and seven minutes until I awaken to eat my breakfast and to shower, and to plot. Only seven hours and seven minutes until I am to awaken and wonder how I will succeed in something I so often fail at.  
  
They are still asleep. Sleeping still soundlessly. Shallow breathing and movements halted in the undying oblivion of sleep. Innocent…peaceful…protected. Something that I never was and never will be. Something that I've longed for but never received. Am I forever doomed to attempt again and again to destroy that which cannot be destroyed? Is that my true destiny? To fail? Am I that one person who is there to make others feel good and my few fleeting moments of happiness are victims to the whims of those which are forever to win? That cannot be. It simply cannot …  
  
………..Calm down Mojo…stop this foolishness. It is time that for sleep. Rest up now. For tomorrow…there is much to be done. 


End file.
